


Imagination

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sometimes, in the middle of the nights, Han lets those thoughts wander, lets himself embrace what might have been, if things were different, if the universe had not broken around them right as they crashed together.





	Imagination

Han knows the boundaries to their relationship well at this point. He knows what sort of touches Luke permits on a good day without blushing profusely and scrambling away from him. He knows the kind of things that he can say without making Luke's shoulders tense and his conversation to shut to a low and Chewie give him _the look_ for causing it. It takes time, throughout their journey to Alderaan and then further with the princess, but he begins to know Luke better than he ever could have hoped for.

But he knows very well, more than anything else, the sort of things he could never do. A relationship is off the table. Not with Luke so overwhelmed and busy with his Jedi agendas – saving princesses and such. Not with the fighting in the background. Not with the way he commits to such an easy relationship with Leia. Han knows better than to wish for anything like that with Luke.

But sometimes, in the middle of the nights, alone, he lets those thoughts wander, lets himself embrace what might have been, if things were different, if they were better, if the universe had not broken around them right as they crashed together.

He imagines Luke being pliable and innocuous most of the time, because he is. And that brings a sort of realism to it. The boy too naive for his own good. And for an hour, Han can corrupt him in all the best ways.

It had been particularly rough today, with Luke in a sense of ease and smiles, more than usual, and insistent on accompanying Han everywhere. Not that Han objected. But when training resulted in shirts coming off, he wished he could have been elsewhere. If Luke noticed how bothered he seemed, it didn't trouble him.

But that night, he imagines what it would have been like to act before, in the morning, walking the halls. Just down from their rooms. And he loses himself in the idea of how it would have gone.

It starts with Luke speaking about something Force-related that flies over Han’s head, grinning brilliantly and oblivious to the way Han would be looking at him with such longing because of that beautiful, easy smile. Then Han surges forward and pins him against the nearest wall, covering his mouth with his own. He imagines Luke would taste as light and ethereal as he looks, something he could never get enough of, something that would pull him back instantly the moment he had to rise for air.

In his mind, he covers Luke's body with his own, limb matched for limb. He is able to feel all of the lean cords of muscle he knows Luke has all over him. He reaches down and takes both of Luke's hands in his own, raising them up to pin them above the younger's head, trapping him against the wall. Luke flexes, pulling back, unsure and confused. His blue eyes are so close. Han can study each unnaturally bright, vivid shade that blended into such a beautiful, glowing color.

With his other hand, he cups the back of Luke's head and draws him back into the kiss, fingers tangled in the thick, silky mess of blond. Luke wraps his leg around the outside of Han's, pinning his thigh between his legs. Han can't hold back a breathy sound, pressing closer to him until there's no separation anywhere. He runs his hand down from Luke's neck, feeling the lean muscles that run down to his chest, over the outline of his abdomen, and stops at his hip. He moves his hand under the fabric, clenching Luke's hip hard, and the little noise Luke makes when he does doesn't help his control any.

Luke tries to wrench his hands out of Han's grip, moving his body against his, wanting to touch. Han keeps them there -- or he does until Luke bites down on his bottom lip and sucks. He goes weak everywhere, and before he knows it, Luke has his hands free and Han is gripping the back of Luke's head again and pulling him into a deeper, firmer kiss.

Luke's arm snakes away from his back, where it had been curled around his neck, and his spidery fingers trail across Han's collar and down to his chest, leaving stinging trails of goosebumps in their wake. He crooks one under the top of Han's shirt, edging it down the slightest bit. His skin is always cold, and feeling the slightest touch of it against the skin of his chest makes his mind turn to blurs for a moment. Then he's pulling Luke's hips against his and relishing in that feeling.

Han moves his mouth away from Luke's, drawing in shallow breathes. Luke leans forward this time, pressing his swollen, slick lips against the side of Han's mouth, then his cheek, then his jaw, and Han's voice feels like it's only half-working when he mumbles, as suavely as he can, "My room."

That makes Luke pull back. Han releases his hip, and Luke grabs his hand before he can let it fall to his side. Luckily, his room is close to where they stood in the hall. Luke's palm is soft, not yet calloused from frequent weapon use or cracked from harsh weather. His fingers lace through Han's, knotting their hands together.

Luke opens the door with one hand, releasing Han, and swiftly steps inside. He turns around, waiting for Han at the center at of the small room, his arms behind his back and that insufferable, winning smile on his face.

Han follows after him, closing the door and checking its lock. He would not have anyone disturb them after he finally had Luke to himself. What can he say? Han Solo is a selfish guy.

He keeps a space between them when he steps forward, gently tipping Luke's chin up to kiss. He is the perfect height; the perfect everything, really. Not but a few seconds pass before Luke's fist is curling in his shirt, this time harder, and Luke wrenches them backward. Luke stops him before they reach the side of the bed and Han does without a second thought, completely at his mercy. He places one hand on Luke's shoulder, the other on his neck, deepening the kiss. Luke allows it -- no, he falls into it, turning malleable again. He closes some of the distance between him and Han, enough for Han to feel the ghost of his touch everywhere against him.

He bites on Luke's lip and the sound Luke makes turns every sense Han has inside him off. He wants every bit of Luke. He needs him.

Han pulls back, and for a moment, a look of confusion crosses Luke's face. Then Han is shoving him hard against the side of the bed, the back of his legs hitting the board. He presses one kiss against Han's jaw before drawing back, settling on the mattress, and Han moves to hover above him. Luke is pinned beneath him, his blond hair stark and messy against the dark grey sheets, his snowy skin stained with a feverish blush, his lips deep red and swollen.

Han’s fantasy is aided by the fact he knows – he knows with painstaking accuracy – what Luke looks like with his shirt off. For a farm boy, Luke lacks a sense of shame when it comes to stripping off his shirt; perhaps a side effect of working on a farm on a desert planet. He had muscle from years of the hard work, and then new ones from his progression as a Jedi. He doesn’t have any scars or blemishes. His skin looks smooth, kissable, perfect. A faint trail of hair leads down his stomach. Han wants to kiss it all.

He can’t begin to imagine what he would taste like when Han finally got his mouth on him.

He can imagine – vividly – the whines and whimpers that would fall helplessly from Luke as Han kisses his way down the faint outline of the muscles of his abdomen. He imagines Luke would be sensitive; he always shied away from touch naturally, cordially.

And then – finally – he could push down the edge of Luke’s pants, revealing yet untouched smooth, pale skin. His cock would already be hard and leaking, red and waiting and yearning for Han’s touch. Han could finally—

“Han!” A hand knocks against his door. “Are you in there?”

Han removes his hand from between his legs with a jerk. “What, kid?”

His tone is rather sharp – not nearly as sharp as he’d typically use with this sort of interruption, but certainly not the sort of tone that he uses with Luke. For a moment, Luke is silent. He asks quietly, “Is everything all right?”

Luckily, Han is wearing dark pants, and he doubts Luke’s gaze would travel that way anyhow. He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and crosses over to the door. When he opens it, he sees Luke standing there, looking small, dwarfed in a white shirt that is too large for him – _my shirt_ , Han thinks numbly, and that does nothing to help his problem.

“There’s a problem in the cockpit,” Luke says. He must have been woken up, because his voice is rough with sleep, and that – yet again – does not help Han’s situation, but may provide useful ammunition for his future fantasies. Gods, it’s like the kid didn’t even realize what he did to Han.

Han realizes he’s probably going to have to walk out of his room, cock still hard, into the cockpit, where Chewie would certainly notice, because where Luke has some shame, Chewie does not.

At least Luke can’t understand Chewie.

“All right,” Han says. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Luke is back in his own room, Han is back in his, and Leia is sitting on the edge of Luke’s mattress.

“And then—” Luke says “—Chewie says something like – and this is a really rough translation here – _I can’t believe you’re still hard for the kid after we’ve been trying to fix this_ – oh, I’m not saying that word – _steering system for the last twenty minutes_.”

“And what did Han say?” Leia asks.

“He said, and again, this is my best translation, ‘ _Well, you can’t expect me to just calm down when he keeps bending over like that_.’”

“Oh my,” Leia says. “Then what happened?”

“Then he went back to his room!” Luke says.

“Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Leia sighs, her mouth twisting in a sly expression. “I suppose I can try jamming the radios tomorrow,” she says. “You could get on the ladder to fix it – I’ll show you how, it will impress Han. Wear a loose shirt when you do.”

“Leia, I love you.”

“I know.”


End file.
